


Four Walls and a Door

by twistedingenue



Series: Basic Bitches [3]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Darcy Lewis Smut Week, F/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:25:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedingenue/pseuds/twistedingenue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He brings lunch because no one is actively currently trying to take over the world, or at least the part he where he accepts responsibility. Clint brings other things because he’s a sneaky bastard who likes this concept of illusion of privacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Walls and a Door

 

         “Do you know what day it is today?” Darcy says, excitement rolling through her voice like…an excited thing. Clint’s not working with his best vocabulary quite yet because it’s morning, and Darcy’s in the midst of dressing and she’s only wearing a dress shirt and underwear as she reaches up into the closet for something. It’s a great and distracting sight.

“Um,” he replies, swallowing down a dry throat, “Wednesday? Mashed potato day in the cafeteria?”

“All good guesses, my heart of hearts, but not the answer I am looking for.” She pulls out a scarf from a container, dropping back to her heels from her toes, and then yes, bending over to pick up a pair of shoes. It’s going to be a long, frustrating day. “Today,” she declares, turning around and walking to the dresser, “is the day that I get to move from cubical to an office.”

Clint’s never really worked in an office setting. He’s occasionally forced to sit in at meetings, or practically shackled to a chair and computer to complete reports that he has neglected for a couple of weeks at a time, but never a normal office job. It’s not like Darcy has a normal office job, because she’s an Avengers handler, and god knows this shit isn’t normal, but still, it’s a little outside his area of knowledge. “This is good?” he says, finishing getting dressed himself while keeping a trained eye on Darcy’s ass and legs as she wiggles her way into a pencil skirt.

“This is a very good thing.” Jewelry’s next, and she holds out a simple gold chain. Clint takes it from her, and helps with the clasp, taking the opportunity to kiss behind her ear, where jawline hits neck. “Don’t muss me. I am celebrating my accomplishment by looking confident and like I know what I’m doing. I have a door, Barton. A door. I can close my door and lock it, and not have to deal with anyone. I can have dancing time.”

“You know that a third of the members of SHIELD can pick a lock, right sweetheart? And that there are several who can just bust it down with a single punch.”

“I am willfully and cheerfully ignoring this fact. Because I have a door. I will take the illusion of privacy.”

 

                                *

He brings lunch because no one is actively currently trying to take over the world, or at least the part he where he accepts responsibility. Clint brings other things because he’s a sneaky bastard who likes this concept of illusion of privacy.

                                *

The office isn’t big, it doesn’t have any windows, and the furniture is all corporate beige, but he can see that Darcy has a box of decorations. She’s also standing on her rolling chair, teetering as she positions her diploma on the wall. He sets the bag from the deli down, locks the door, and sneaks up behind her, steadying her with his hands on her hips.

It doesn’t work, because she yelps and loses her footing, sending the chair flying out to the side. Clint tightens his grip, stopping her from falling, her legs flailing in mid-air.

“Oh god, Clint, don’t do that to a girl.” She says, higher pitched than normal.

“Would you rather fall?”

“I wasn’t falling until you put your hands on me.” She scolds, and he turns and readjusts to set her down on the desk, and holds her there.

“This is a much better place for your ass to land, instead of bruised from the floor.”

“Trust me, that is not the way I like my butt to be bruised.” Darcy says, quick and distracted as he runs his hands down her arms. She bites her lip, realizing what she just said, and it’s cute that she still blushes after months of dating and practically living together whenever he’s not sent halfway around the world.

This he can work with, “Is that so?” he murmurs as he starts to kiss her. Just lightly at first, and she laughs, relieved at her admission into his mouth. He loves the way the sound reverberates in the empty spaces in the back of his throat. She likes letting him lead, he knows, and later likes to be insistent and detailed.

It’s a joy, really. “A little, yeah.” She replies between ragged gasps. “Okay, more than a little.” And she kisses across his collarbone before he gets her to her feet. He pulls her close with his hands pressing against her ass, his thumbs circling over the fabric of her skirt. He starts bunching it up, just a fraction of an inch at a time, as he keeps his mouth locked over hers. Darcy is entrancing, her wide wicked grin, urging him on quietly.

He’s got her skirt bunched all the way up in his hands, and he flips it and smoothes it up, “Fewer wrinkles the better,” he says, breaking off to whisper in her ear, teasing down her far to practical underwear just enough to let it fall.

He tests firsts, slaps more like a firm grip. He doesn’t want to make too much noise, save that for some other, more private time. The angle isn’t great for it either. But Darcy arches and whimpers, her hands kneading his neck and shoulders, and he picks up the pace. Small, precise hits, and he dips his finger into her wet folds, sliding across before landing his hand down again.

Darcy buries herself against him, breathing into the crook of his neck, stuttering short meaningless phrases, “Oh, be good girl, we’re just getting started today.”

“I think this particular activity precludes being good.” She says and drops her hands slowly, skimming his chest and stomach. He knows how to be quiet but lets out a hushed moan as she reaches the buttons of his pants and works them open. She looks up at him through her long eyelashes and all he can see is a wicked glint and a wide smile as she slides them down. She takes a good look at him, hard as fuck and he respects the assessing way her eyes move up to his shirt, and correctly pulls the condom out of one of the small pockets hidden throughout. “Boy Scouts,” she says, “ain’t got nothing on you, peaches.”

That comment alone deserves another slap, and this time, he lets the noise ring out. Darcy retaliates by rolling the condom on slowly with her firm hands. The first touch is always a bit of a shock to him, and his own noise is louder than he wants.

She doesn’t quite take the lead, but she knows what she wants, and she first goes to take of her glasses, and Clint stays her hand, “They add to the charm.” Her dark hair flies out when she goes to lean against her desk, arms spread out to grip. It’s just a few quick steps to move and adjust, then he presses against her, chest to her back and holding her there as he says, “I wonder if they installed soundproofing in here.”

Darcy looks back at him, her expression a mix of dread and challenge, and guides Clint’s cock inside of her. He kisses the nape of her neck, just above the collar of her shirt, and isn’t that a look? Rumpled and sweating, holding her head high as he sets himself to a slow beat. She’s hot and tight around his dick, rolls her hips to meet him.

He steadies her, watches as she strains to hold herself in and make no noise. She’s not very good at it, and when he slides a hand over to play with her clit, he muffles the sound of her moan with his other hand. It’s not long before she’s mouthing off into his palm, silent curses and urgings as she shakes. She trembles from her arms, holding fast to the desk, to her legs, buckling as she comes.

It’s not that that pulls him over the edge, it’s that she licks at his hand, inching her tongue between his fingers, “Oh fuck, Darcy.” He says, hushed and under his breath as his own orgasm rolls through him.

Clint pulls away, and tugs back down Darcy’s skirt, smoothing it out, “There, now no one will be able to tell the difference.”

“Clint, baby, really. I think my hair alone is going to proclaim to the entire office that I just got fucked in my new office.”

He cleans up, finding the trashcan and burying down the condom, “Eh, do you think they’d expect anything less?”

**Author's Note:**

> In the Basic Bitches timeline, this is an interlude, between say it aloud and basic bitches.


End file.
